


The Handyman and the Mountain of the Steel Demons

by Parallax_Delta



Category: Original Work
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Play, Cybernetics, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, Impregnation, Oral Sex, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28155501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parallax_Delta/pseuds/Parallax_Delta
Summary: An engineer crash-lands in the wasteland and is rescued by an all-female tribe of cyborgs. He soon gets caught up in the power struggle between the ruling class and the mysterious entity known as The Scrapmother. Can he escape to return home?
Kudos: 4





	1. Crash Landing

“Aren’t you an engineer? Get back there and do something!” 

Zillon grasped at fragments of memories. Conversations that happened only a few minutes ago were already hazy and hard to recall. What had happened? He remembered everything before today clearly: His life in the towering metropolis of Brunan Prime, his work maintaining the great machines and engines that kept the city running smoothly, his assignment to go assist with serious repairs in another city, and his flight over the wastes… Right! The flight!

“Do you smell something burning?”

“The controls are completely locked up, and the engine’s overheating!”

“Do something quick or we’re gonna’ lose altitude!”

“Aren’t you an engineer? Get back there and do something!”

More fragments of conversation, more memories coming back. For some reason Zillon couldn’t see very well, or move at all. What happened again? That’s right, the engines. The heat was intense, somebody had to have sabotaged them; there were a dozen safety systems in place to prevent a failure of that magnitude. He remembered switching on his shine-field to protect himself from the heat of the engines. As the glowing bubble of the shine-field wrapped around his body he griped that vehicles weren’t his specialty, and then…

He was distracted by his aching head and a sharp pain in his left eye. As the memories returned, the feeling returned to his body, except he couldn’t feel his right leg for some reason. And that reason was… the explosion, of course. He suddenly remembered a blast coming from the direction of the cockpit, and very little after that.

With great effort, he sat up. Zillon Jax found himself in the twisted, smoking wreckage of the shuttle that was supposed to carry him to Ardon Tert for a two-day-maximum job, with his leg pinned beneath a jagged chunk of metal and a #16 screw through his left eye.

While his senses were still dulled, he freed the metal screw from his eye and threw it aside, then tried in vain to free his leg, but found he didn’t have the strength. He laid back down on the ground defeated, as his overloaded shine-field emitter let out a pathetic shower of sparks. That shield was likely the only reason he survived the explosion and impact. Three times now, that shine-field had saved his life, but maybe it wasn’t going to be enough this time. He was either going to starve to death or succumb to radiation, that is if he didn’t bleed to death first.

“I know I heard something over here,” a voice called out softly from nearby.

Zillon froze. Who the fuck would be out here in the wastes? Scavengers? Mutants? Or maybe the saboteurs out to finish the job. He lay perfectly still and closed his eyes, hoping not to be seen. Heavy footsteps could be heard approaching, and whatever was coming didn’t walk on two legs. Dirt scattered next to his head, and it took all his self-control not to react.

“Sister, come here!” a feminine voice whispered loudly. “There’s a body!”

More footsteps came closer. “Oh the poor thing. Let’s get that metal off and give this outlander a proper burial.” In an instant, the pressure was lifted from his leg, and he briefly thought to run before pain overtook him and he screamed.  
“Oh, Mother! It’s still alive! What do we do?”

Through a teary eye, Zillon looked up at the two women that found him, and promptly resumed screaming. The two things before him were like mockeries of the human form. The first one was vaguely humanoid, but incredibly tall, standing on tall spindly limbs. Her skeletal body was made of a dull black metal and had four arms: the upper two, large gripping claws, and the lower two were wicked, scythe-like blades. The only clothing that she wore was a heavily-patched cloth shirt that made a valiant attempt to cover her sizable breasts. She had a kind-looking face with long black hair, but it seemed incongruous attached to such a strange body.

The second woman was even more monstrous. The bulk of her body was like a mechanical insect; six spindly legs, holding up a heavy abdomen with packs of supplies and parts salvaged from the shuttle strapped to it. To the sides of her lower body were two massive metal pincers reaching out from her back that were currently holding aloft the chunk of metal that had been pinning his leg. Above that, was a slender human torso wearing a thin tunic with tiny, almost vestigial arms. Her face looked younger than the other girl, but it was hard to tell as her lower jar had been replaced with robotic mandibles that were waving about nervously.

“Try to calm him down while I get out the medical supplies,” the humanoid said as she rushed to search the packs on the other cyborg’s back.

Casually tossing the metal hunk aside, the girl knelt down beside Zillon and gently held his thrashing body down with her pincers. “Please don’t move. We’re not going to hurt you. Just calm down and we’ll bandage you up.”

Zillon tried to regain his composure. They were terrifying. He’d never seen anything like them before, but he’d heard the rumors of the terrible monstrosities that stalked the wastes. Crazed survivors from lost cities, deadly relics from old wars, and bloodthirsty mutants were supposedly common out here, which was why nobody ever crossed the wastes except in a high-altitude shuttle. However, these two really did seem to be trying to help. The older-looking one was already bringing over gauze to place over his wounded eye. Tucking her blade-arms in, she gently wrapped a bandage around his head.

“Can you understand us?” She asked.

“Yes,” he replied weakly.

“Good. That makes this a lot easier.” She sighed with relief. “Your eye, well… it’s gone, and your leg is in pretty bad shape as well.”

Zillon nodded. “I just need to get back to a metropolis. Brunon Prime, Ardon Tert, or any other place I can find a med-bay.”

“That’s easier said than done. It’s at least a five day journey to the nearest city and you’re in no state to travel.” She turned to the other girl with a serious look on her face. “I think we’ll have to take him home. The Scrapmother may be able to help him.” 

“Right, Mother will know what to do.”

“You know what has to be done then?” The other girl nodded solemnly. The gently rolled him onto his stomach.

“What are you doing? Should I be worried?” Zillon asked, already getting started on the worrying.

“Just lie still, we need to take care of something first. We have to make sure nobody can follow us home, especially not other outlanders.” The humanoid girl said in a motherly tone. She addressed the other girl. “My hands aren’t steady enough for this. Can you do it, if I hold him down?”

“What exactly are you doing?” The older girl wiped something wet on the back on his neck and then held his head with both hands. He felt the weight of the insectoid’s pincers placed on his shoulder as she leaned in close. He could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

“Don’t move, this is very delicate and I don’t want to hurt you.” The humanoid was holding his head still with her claws so Zillon couldn’t turn his head to see, while the other cyborg had reached out with her mandibles and extended a slender blade from one of them. She made an incision at the base of his neck and he cried out in surprise.

“Shhh. You’ll be ok. Just relax,” the woman holding his head tried to soothe him. “You can get it, right sister?”

“I think so.” A pair of delicate, tweezer like appendages extended from the other mandible and she reached into the incision she’d made. “Got it!” She withdrew a tiny bloody capsule, and her sister quickly let go of Zillon’s head and stuck a bandage on the cut.

Zillon rolled over onto his back. “What the hell did you do to me?” he said indignantly.

The younger sister held the tiny capsule in front of his face. “I removed this tracking device. Scrapmother taught us to always remove this before we bring any people home to meet her.” She threw the capsule into a pile of wreckage.

Her sister stood up and unhooked a pack from the younger girl’s back and began stuffing salvage into it. “I’ll go on ahead and tell them you’re coming. I can run fast enough to make it home by nightfall. You take your time and carry this outlander carefully. Find somewhere safe to shelter for the night.” They embraced briefly and the older girl took off at a blinding pace.

“I never did find out your name, outlander.” the remaining sister remarked.

“It’s Zillon.”

“My name is Brook and my sister’s name is Rose.”

“Odd names for wasteland dwellers.” 

“Mother likes to name us after things she remembers from a long time ago.” She gingerly lifted Zillon with her pincer arms. “Let me know if I’m walking too fast, or if you need anything. I have plenty of food and water.” And they set off at a slow, steady pace across the wastes.

As night fell they sheltered in a small cave that Brook said her people used as a waypoint. It was fairly cozy, with a roof, dry bedding and a small cache of supplies. It even had a few powered lamps and heaters, running off ancient batteries, so they didn’t need to make a fire.

Zillon hobbled over to the heater on a crutch Brook had fastened for him from a piece of scrap metal. He sat beside her, careful with his broken leg. It hurt terribly before he had found some strong painkillers in the supplies the sisters had scavenged from the shuttle. Still, it was twisted and barely hanging on. Even with medical attention, he’d probably lose the leg.

Brook handed him a small metal tray holding some lumpy gruel and a portion of greyish ground meat from the supplies on the shuttle. Zillon tasted the gruel. It was the same kind of nutrient mush provided to workers back in Brunon, but it tasted off, like it was made with lower-quality ingredients, if that were possible.

Brook picked up a chunk of meat with her mandibles and ate it, hey eyes sparkling. “It’s delicious!” She waved her giant pincers around happily. “We only get meat once a year, on Mother’s birthday. Don’t tell anyone we ate this when we get home.” 

“Here you can have mine,” Zillon said placing his portion on her plate. “I never liked this stuff much.”

“Really? I can have it?” Brook asked. He nodded and Brook smiled. Well, her eyes seemed to be smiling at least. She didn’t really have a human mouth after all. As they ate, the lamp began to flicker, then grow dim. “Oh no. No, no, no.” Brook fretted. “That’s the last working lamp here.” 

Zillon made to get up, but he winced as he moved his leg in a direction it didn’t appreciate. “Pass it over here would you.” He said through clenched teeth.

“What are you gonna’ do?” Brook asked, as she lifted the heavy metal case of the lamp with a pincer and sat it in front of Zillon. He popped the top and grabbed a bundle of wires and his fusion tool off of his belt. He yanked at a wire inside and the cave was plunged into darkness.

A second later a soft yellow glow emanated from the tip of his fusion tool as he melted the end of a new wire onto a terminal. Brook leaned in close and watched in awe as he worked. “These old powered lamps are a wonder,” Zillon said as he worked. “They don’t make ‘em like this any more. The battery and the emitter will easily last for ten thousand years if you take care of it, but they skimped out on the wiring. The rubber jacket dry-rots and crumbles, and the wire rusts away. There, should be good for another decade at least.” He popped the top back on and the lamp blazed to life, bathing the cave in soft white light once again.

He turned to find Brook’s face inches from his own, her mandibles slack in stunned silence. “That was incredible! You fixed it!”

“What never seen a repairman before?”

“No, never. I thought only Mother could fix things like that.” She was absolutely in awe at his simple fix. She opened the top of the lamp to marvel at the new wires.

“Well, that’s what I do. I fix things. I was on my way to Ardon Tert to work on the city’s mind-engines, when my shuttle went down.”

“You fix cities?” 

“Not by myself, but yeah, something like that.”

“I’ve got to take you to meet Mother when we get home. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.” Brook clapped her tiny human hands together excitedly.

“Your mother sounds like a very important person. Is she the leader of your people.”

“Hmmm. Kind of, but not really. Mother helps us with everything. She makes food for us, protects us, and she can fix anything, even people.” She said patting her metal torso. “But Mother doesn’t lead us. She wants us to make our own decisions. For when she’s not around any more, she says.” Brook looked down at the gruel on her tray with a sad look in her eyes.

“I see,” Zillon said. “Well I’d like to meet her if I get the chance. She sounds like an amazing woman.” He stood up with great effort and hobbled to the cave’s entrance.

“Where are you going? It’s dangerous out there.” Brook stood up, her mechanical limbs creaking.

“I’ll just be right outside the door. Gotta’ take a leak.” He walked out into the cool night air. The moon illuminated the whole valley, its rocky floor littered with crumbling ruins of long-dead civilizations. The air was clear out here in the wastes. It was more beautiful than he had ever thought it would be. The air was so clean, nothing like the choking smog back home. He braced himself against the hillside and opened his fly. He sighed as he relieved himself, not noticing someone quietly sneaking up on him.  
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard someone beside him gasp in shock. “Do you mind? Can I have a little privacy?” He said to Brook who was gawking at him, her vestigial hands held over her mouth.

“Y-you’re a man?!” she sputtered.

“Uh… yeah. That I am. What did you think I was?”

Brook once more looked down at his still-exposed member and clapped her hands over her eyes this time. “I’m sorry. I’ve just… never seen a man before.” She tried to peek out from between her fingers.

“Really?” Zillon zipped up his fly, too embarrassed to finish his business now.

“We don’t have very many men left, and they’re kept away from all the others. Only Perfects get to mingle with the males and mate. Someone like me would be lucky if we even see a man once in our life.”

They were interrupted by a howl in the distance. It wasn’t any animal, Zillon could identify. The two looked at each other. “Let’s get back inside.” Brook suggested, and Zillon hurried in as Brook moved a heavy stone in front of the entryway.

\-----------------------------------------------

“So, I noticed we’re heading south,” Zillon said as they continued their trek the next day. “Where are we going? If I remember my geography correctly, there’s nothing but rocks and sand for 3000 miles until you reach Launa Prime.”

“No, my home is this way,” Brook said “It’ll be about another day at this speed.”

“Is your village very large?”

“Oh yes, there’s a huge valley up ahead that is our territory.”

“That seems hard to believe. I mean, according to the maps…”

Brook interrupted. “I’ve noticed you outlanders’ shuttles always travel the same routes.”

“Yeah, they pretty much always take direct routes between the cities and never deviate.”

“Then how do you know what’s over the horizon if you’ve never seen it.”

Zillon thought about that. There was always a chance the maps were lying, that whoever drew them up was either ignorant or trying to deceive the curious. Though he had no idea why.

As they traveled they told stories of their homelands. Brook was fascinated by his tales of the city, of a land where children were raised by their parents, where men were as common as women, and most people who lived in its gleaming spires were born strong and whole. In return she told stories of her brothers and sisters scavenging for supplies and fending off the more savage tribes of the wastes. It seemed in their village, standing was determined by their “wholeness”. Birth defects were a matter of course, and the Scrapmother would gift the unfortunate new limbs and bodies, while those born with their bodies intact would be accepted into the ranks of the ruling caste, the Perfects. Brook admitted her standing in her homeland was quite low.

As the sun set, the came to a low plain before an impressive ridge.

“There it is. The valley’s just beyond that hill.” She said pointing with a pincer.

Zillon looked towards the ridge, but something else caught his eye. Ahead of them was a figure, that appeared to be standing beside the trail. “Brook, what is that? Is that a person standing there?” He asked as they approached. 

“No, well it used to be. It’s someone who tried to enter our valley uninvited.” The figure finally got close enough for Zillon to make it out. A metal spike four feet in length protruded from the ground with a human skeleton impaled upon it. As he looked off into the distance he saw dozens of similar corpses, their bones crumbling to dust.

“That’s gruesome.”

“I know,” she said looking away from the bodies. “Nobody wants to go pull the bodies down when they get stuck there, so they just leave them. Those raider tribes have all kinds of diseases, you know.” Zillon declined to ask how they got on the spikes in the first place.

They traveled through a narrow pass and into the “valley”, although crater would be a more accurate description. The valley was immense, simply stunning in scale and almost perfectly round. It was surrounded by a tall rocky ridge and was absolutely littered with ruins and crumbled structures. At the very center was an immense mountain covered in cracks and crevices. “There! The village is in there.” Brook cried out, pointing towards the mountain.

At that moment, the sun dipped below the edge of the crater bathing all except the tallest ruins in shadow. “Well, I guess we’ll have to camp for the night. We’ll get there first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure? We can probably make it there tonight.”

Brook looked over her shoulder at him. “Trust me, even here in the valley, you don’t want to be out after dark.” She pointed to a building further down the trail that was more intact than the others. “We can stay there tonight. It’s another outpost. We used to have sentries stationed there a long time ago when we had more people. Come on, let’s hurry before it gets too dark.”

Where they had stayed the night before was simply a cave. This was a proper outpost. It was an ancient structure, Zillon couldn’t even begin to guess at the age, but it came from a time when things were built to stand the test of time. Inside it was clean, warm and spacious. There was bedding of all shapes and sizes, medical supplies, and it was well-stocked with food. It even had a bath and water purifier. According to Brook, while they couldn’t man it all the time, there were patrols that traveled around the rim of the valley looking for signs of trouble that used these outposts. The two of them unpacked and settled in for the night.

\-------------------------------------------

“How old are you, Brook?” Zillon asked, as they ate their dinner of processed gruel.

“I’m 23.”

“23 years old? But you’re so small!”

“What do you mean small? I’m huge!” She stood up waving her massive pincers for emphasis.

“I mean your body’s small.”

“This IS my body. It’s the only one I’ve got.” She said looking hurt.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean any offense by it.”

“No, it’s alright. Mother always scolds me for relying on the limbs she gave me too much.” She looked at her atrophied arms.

“You said this place has a bath?” Zillon said, changing the subject.

“Well, it really has a shower. We should probably take advantage of it while we’re here.” She stood up. “It’s in the back room here.” Zillon got up and attempted to follow, but he found himself unable to get to his feet, his leg simply hurt too much. Brook noticed and came over, lifting him effortlessly with her pincers.

“Sorry,” Zillon said sheepishly. “I guess you’re going to have to help me.”

“It’s fine. You can help me too. I can never quite reach my back legs to clean them properly.” Brook sat him down on a bench and filled a small bucket with soap and water. “Here, you help wash me first than I’ll help you.” She handed him the bucket, and began to disrobe.

Zillon carefully scrubbed her spindly legs while Brook washed her upper body and pincers. She turned around to let Zillon wash the other side, and his head nearly collided with her chest. He blushed as he found himself face to face with her petite breasts.

“Is something wrong?” Brook asked as she reached down to grab the armor plate protecting her lower torso. She pressed a hidden switch and the armor plate came loose revealing the interface points for the machine body and her untrimmed bush.

Zillon blushed even harder and looked away. “It’s just… in my city, people aren’t so casual about being naked around others.”

Brook giggled. “I guess it’s because we’re all girls, nobody ever thinks anything of it. Everyone’s different, so there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She turned and Zillon busied himself washing her other legs. When he was done she stood under the shower and pulled a cord. Warm, clean water rained down on her body, washing away the soap. Brook closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation. 

“Now it’s your turn,” Brook said returning to his bench, still dripping with water. She helped him remove his clothes, being extra careful when removing his pants. Zillon’s leg was bruised and twisted at an unnatural angle. He should have been worried about the unhealthy-looking colors it was beginning to turn, but he was much more worried about his raging erection.

Brook’s arm brushed against it several times as she washed his legs. “This is supposed to happen, right?” she said gesturing to his dick. “Sorry, they don’t really teach us much about how men’s bodies work, since we’re not really expected to meet any.”  
“Yeah, that’s…normal. It happens when a man gets… well, when he gets aroused.” Zillon said, embarrassed.

“Oh, so this is exciting you, then?” Brook’s eyes sparkled with mischief, and her mandibles waved about excitedly. She slowly pulled the rag down his chest bringing it closer and closer to his dick. At the last second, she pulled it away and giggled at his exasperated face.

“Of course it is. It’s only natural to get excited when there’s a cute girl giving you a bath.”

Now it was Brook’s turn to blush. She rolled him over both to wash his back and to hide her embarrassment. When she was done, she lifted him and carried him under the shower. Pulling the cord once more, water rained down on the two of them. 

“So, does it just stay like that?” She gestured at his penis, still rock-hard.

“It goes down eventually, either after a while, or after a man gets… how can I put this... release.” Brook sat him back down on the bench and knelt down beside him

“I understand. It’s not much different for girls. Do you want me to help you? I can, if you tell me how.” She gently placed one of her tiny human hands on his shaft. “It’s warm.” She said running her fingers along its length.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course. It’s not a problem. In my village, everyone has a few close friends to help them out when they get frustrated or just want to be with someone. It’s always better with a friend.” Brook’s people seemed to be fairly free with their sexuality. A bit of a shock for someone from a more conservative society like Zillon.

Brook looked up at him for approval. “Go ahead, then,” Zillon said.

“So, how do I do this?”

“Just do whatever feels natural. Most anything feels good. You can use your hands or even your mouth as long as you don’t bite.”

“OK.” Brook leaned in close as though, staring at it intently, as though she was trying to burn its image into her mind. She ran her fingers along the veins feeling its warmth, giggling as it twitched and jumped in her hands. She brought her face even closer, slowly extending her mandibles to wrap around his shaft. Zillon expected her mandibles to be cold, but they were as warm as her hands. She gently pulled his member into her mouth. Propped up on his elbows, Zillon could see everything. Brook didn’t have lips, so he could see straight into her mouth. She rolled her tongue around his head, while deftly stroking the shaft with her mandibles. It was a bizarre sight, but it felt incredible.

She released his dick, breathing heavily. “It doesn’t really taste like anything, but it’s nice.”

“Well, we did just shower.”

“That’s true.” Brook reached down to her snatch, showing Zillon fingers sticky with her arousal. “I guess I’m getting a bit excited myself.”

“Would you like me to help you as well?” Zillon offered.

Brook placed her fingers in his mouth. She panted as he sucked on them, savoring her taste. “I’d like that,” she said.

She stood up and walked behind his head. Her insectoid body was tall enough to straddle the bench. She stood over him, and lowered her upper body on top of him pressing her dripping slit into his face. She once again took his cock into her mouth as he licked and kissed her lips.

“That feels… good,” She said without removing his cock from her mouth. This confirmed Zillon’s suspicion that Brook’s voice actually came from her mandibles while speaking, but he didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. Brook ground her hips against his face involuntarily as she tried to pleasure him. Zillon was finding it hard to keep control as well. She reached down and began to stroke the base of his cock with her hand as she continued licking the underside and stroking the sides with her dexterous jaws.

“I’m… getting close to…” Zillon could barely speak.

“Me too. Let’s do it together,” Brook said, moving faster, stroking the base and sides while swirling her tongue around the tip, while Zillon licked at her clit, hoping he could hold out long enough to please her. Brook gasped as his cock throbbed and twitched, firing cum into her mouth. She moaned as she came as well, grinding her hips into him with such force he couldn’t even breathe. 

Just as Zillon thought he was about to pass out, Brook let off the pressure and stood up, strings of sticky fluid reaching from his chin to her snatch above. She stepped around beside him and she lifted him into the air with her pincers.  
She looked down at him, seemingly satisfied, with his cum still dripping from her mandibles. She noticed and caught a runaway drop on her fingers. “That’s supposed to happen, right?” she said transfixed by the thick white fluid.  
“Yeah.” He replied, still trying to catch his breath.

She absentmindedly licked the cum off her fingers. “It’s bitter, but I could get used to it.” As she pulled him in close, wrapping her mandibles around his cheeks, she kissed him as best she could. “Thank you for showing me.”

\--------------------------------------------

“If you’re comfortable back there, let’s get moving,” Brook said and they walked out of the shelter towards the village under the blinding morning sunlight. Zillon looked back at the shelter as they left. He just happened to glance up at the roof, only to spot several humanoid figures scrambling around on top of the building.

“Uhh, Brook are those your people?”

“Nobody should be out this far but us. Who are you…” She turned her head around and froze. There were at least a dozen people all clad in leather and torn hides, wearing goggles and heavy boots. Each carried a pick, hammer, or jagged dagger. They chattered to themselves in a language Zillon didn’t understand. Brook’s voice shook as she whispered, “Tunnelers!”

She tried to run but the men dived from the structure with wild abandon. They tackled her, throwing her off balance and knocking Zillon to the ground. With a scream, Brook threw all but one of her assailants off of her. The last she grabbed around the head with her pincer and crushed his head like a melon. Zillon winced at her show of strength.

The Tunnelers circled the pair, brandishing their weapons and spitting at them. “You probably shouldn’t have done that, now they’re mad.” Zillon said, struggling to his feet. With all the adrenaline pumping through his veins, he barely noticed the pain coming from his leg. 

“It doesn’t matter, they’re cannibals. They were planning to kill us anyways. Stay close to me, I’ll try to protect you.”

A tall burly one with a headlamp and an embellished shovel barked out a command and the Tunnelers pounced. Brook spun and twisted, trying to swat at them while keeping them away from Zillon, but it was a losing battle. Her metal body was strong enough to shrug off their blows but they were relentless. The clambered over her trying to get at her vulnerable upper body. Brook was strong, but she wasn’t a fighter, she was soon overwhelmed with trying to protect herself, leaving Zillon defenseless.

One of the men with a rusty hammer closed in on him. He screamed at Zillon in their harsh-sounding language, and swung his hammer at the engineer. Zillon couldn’t stand in his current condition, let alone fight, so he did his best to parry the blows with his crutch. He got lucky and caught the head of his foe’s hammer with the twisted scrap and threw both of them away. Enraged, the tunneler drew a shiv and dived on top of him.

“RRRRAAAGGGHHH!” The man’s screams of anguish interrupted the melee around them. Zillon’s fusion tool easily burned through the cannibal’s flimsy hide vest, his dirty skin, muscle, and finally his very bones. The shiv clattered to the pavement as the white-hot tip of the fusion tool pierced the man’s heart and was shorted out by the blood rushing out of the new hole in his chest.

As Zillon struggled to get the lifeless tunneler off of him, a man with a heavy pickaxe broke away from Brook to avenge his fallen comrade. He dragged the pick along the roadway, shouting what Zillon could only assume were expletives at him. Zillon freed the tool from the dead man’s chest, but it refused to turn on. A muddy boot slammed into Zillon’s chest sending him sprawling and knocking the tool out of reach. Noticing the engineer’s bandaged leg, the raider stomped on it with all his might. Worryingly, it didn’t hurt as much as it should have, but Zillon screamed in pain nonetheless.

“Zillon, No!” Brook cried out as she tried desperately to dislodge the savages from her body.

His only weapon gone, Zillon closed his eyes and tried to guard his head, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He was going to die here, with the people of Ardon Tert still desperately awaiting his arrival. The cannibal swung his pick down towards his head and suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. The pick fell to the ground inches away from his victim. Zillon looked up to see a metal blade emerging from the man’s chest. Blood spread from around the wound before the scythe was withdrawn and he crumpled to the floor.

“Rose!” Brook cried out at the sight of her sister.

Rose was among them in a second, striking out with all four arms. Her scythes cleaved through flesh and bone as she pummeled them with her gripping arms. The tunnelers screamed out in their incomprehensible language and broke, running towards the gap in the rim of the valley.

“Rose, why are the tunnelers here? They’ve never come into the valley before.” Brook said as she dusted herself off.

Rose replied while keeping her eyes on the fleeing raiders. “That’s because they’re not usually stupid enough to attack in range of the Skybreaker.” Zillon saw her left eye blink rapidly, flashing red and white. “Telemetry’s in. Get down and cover your ears!” she hollered before taking her own advice. 

Brook and Zillon followed suit and within moments a huge rush of air passed overhead followed by a massive explosion. In the distance, he could see the ground underneath the tunnelers feet vanish in a column of dust and debris as a storm of objects rained down. When the dust cleared, the raiding party stood motionless. Their bodies impaled by four-foot metal spikes in a field of gleaming metal spires. One wounded figure slowly limped away out of the valley.

“Good. One left alive to tell those bastards to stay away from our lands.” Rose spat.

“You have a railgun!?” Zillon said, genuinely impressed.

“Yeah. The Skybreaker, pride and joy of the armory. It’s the last working defense weapon we have so we keep it in good working order.”

“The armory-keepers are going to be mad at you for using another flechette round.” Brook Said teasingly.

“What’s the point of making them if we can’t use them?” Rose replied as she freed Zillon’s crutch from under a tunneler corpse and handed it to him. “Here. I’ll escort you the rest of the way.” She helped him back onto Brook’s back, and they began walking to the village in the distance.

“So, did you mate with the outlander? How was he?” Rose asked out of the blue.

“What?!” Brook sputtered and nearly tripped, almost dumping her passenger to the ground. “No, of course not. We didn’t do anything of the sort.” She blushed furiously.

“A shame. You’ll probably never get another chance. When word got around you were bringing back a MALE outlander the Perfects got very interested.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Should I be worried?” Zillon asked.

“Maybe. The perfects are in the ones in charge of everything so if anyone can get you the help you need it would be them, but I think you’ll have a hard time leaving without a fight.”

“I really can’t stay here too long. They need my help at Ardon Tert.”

“I understand. Don’t worry we’ll think of something.” Rose said, patting him on the shoulder with her gripping arm.

\-----------------------------------------------------

It took the better part of the day to reach the village. At Rose’s suggestion, they avoided the main gate, instead opting to circle around and try to get in one of the side entrances. As they followed their winding path through the valley, the mountain loomed ever closer. With the many caves and crevices studding its face, it looked like a massive insect hive.

The sun was behind the mountain as they finally reached its foot. Strangely, there were no foothills, no gentle slope up to its base. The mountain simply was there, its steep cliffs jutting out of the ruined landscape. A small cave, barely visible from a distance, was their point of entry into the towering fortress. Immediately inside the passage turned sharply, and around the corner they were greeted with a heavy portcullis.

“Hmm, I didn’t think they’d close the eastern gate,” Rose said aloud.

“They never close these gates in the daytime,” Brook said to Zillon.

“The gate’s closed because they were waiting for you out front,” said a third woman’s voice. They all turned to look. They hadn’t noticed it before their eyes adjusted to the light, but they weren’t alone here. In an alcove in the wall an immense figure stood. Almost three times as tall as a man, its hulking body was constructed of dull black metal. It was an older design, but Zillon recognized its ilk from his own city. The massive sentry engine strode out from its hiding place, standing between them and the gate. Though it didn’t have a head, it seemed to be glaring down at them.

“Violet! I was hoping you’d be on duty today. I haven’t seen you in ages.” Brook walked over and hugged the giant’s leg with her pincers. “Zillon, this is Violet, one of our village’s guardians.” 

Violet waved down at the man on Brook’s back. “I’m nothing so grand as that. I’m merely a glorified doorstop.” She bent down to get a closer look at the outlander. Zillon could see that there was a smiling face painted onto the carapace of the giant. “So, this is the outlander, is it. He’s kind of cute.”

Brook stepped back and Rose spoke up. “Violet, I don’t suppose you’d be able to open this door for us.”

“Well, I can, but…” Violet sighed. “My orders are to bring the outlander before the council immediately, and let no one interfere with this.” She stood up straight, her large body nearly filling the passageway. It was an imposing sight. Zillon could feel Brook tense up, as though she were ready to bolt. “However, I have also been told to bring the outlander directly to the Heart Chamber, by order of the Scrapmother.” She turned around and began to lift up the massive gate. “Who do you think I’m going to listen to?” 

\-------------------------------------------

They stepped beneath the gate as Violet quietly closed it behind them. “You know me, Brook. I have no love for the council. I’m more than glad to defer to a higher power and save him from their clutches.”

“Violet used to be a Perfect,” Brook informed him.

“You mean, she’s not a robot?” Zillon said, surprised. Violet pivoted to face him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just, in my homeland, we have guards just like you, but they’re completely mechanical.”

Violet leaned back in thought. “According to the records, the guardians were once machines that defended this place from harm, but in time their minds died and so people volunteered to replace them. Well, that’s how it was in the old days at least.”  
“If the council really wants him that badly, how are we going to get him to Mother?” Rose asked, scratching her head with a scythe blade.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Violet said, reaching up to grasp her chestplate with both hands. Zillon heard it unlatch and she carefully lifted her chestplate off and sat it on the floor. With the heavy armor plates gone Zillon could see Violet’s real body, what was left of it at least. Her nude form was mounted in the chest of the hulking chassis. Violet’s arms ended right below the shoulder in metallic interface surfaces connected to the massive prosthetic by a mass of cables and tubes. Similarly, her legs ended right above where her knees used to be with the same type of connection wiring her into the machine. A metal shell encased her head from the nose up leaving only her mouth visible.

“Brook, could you remove the inner plating and padding? I think there will be enough room for him inside me if we do. My hands just aren’t meant for fine movements.” She held up her massive four-fingered hands for emphasis.

“Right, I’ll take care of it.” She set to work disassembling it with some tools she produced from a bag. 

Zillon was busy watching Brook work when a pair of massive hands lifted him into the air. Violet pulled him close to her real body. “Hold close to me, outlander, this might be a tight fit.” Hesitantly he found footholds on the inside of her machine body, and winced as his leg nearly buckled under the strain of supporting his weight. “Wrap your arms around me. I don’t mind,” Violet said. He didn’t have a choice, there was no room for his arms except wrapped around her body.

Before he even got a chance to get comfortable, a cold metal plate pushed against his back. Violet’s massive prosthetic hands pushed the plate from behind, squeezing him tighter to her until the plate latched into position. It wasn’t comfortable, but he fit. Her soft breasts were squashed against his chest and his face was right next to hers. “Does this hurt?” She said softly in his ear.

Zillon relaxed, letting his weight rest against the outer shell of her body. He sighed as the weight was taken off his bad leg and the pain subsided to its familiar ache. “No, it’s fine.”

“We’re ready to move then. Rose, Brook, I’ll lead the way, and you two stay behind me. If I tap my leg, there’s someone coming and you need to hide. Don’t forget, the whole village is on the lookout for you two, you won’t be safe until you’re in Mother’s care.”  
Violet strode confidently through the stone corridors, trying her best to act casually. Zillon found that if he turned his head and looked over his shoulder, he could see through a gap in Violet’s chestplate. The cave-like hallway had given way to manmade corridors of some kind of concrete or carved stone, he could see people, machine-hybrids like Rose, Brook, and Violet milling about. Girls of every size and shape went about their business without paying attention to the massive guardian striding through their midst. When the hallway had cleared, Violet beckoned to Rose and Brook and they advanced to the next corridor.

They turned a corner into a large meeting room, lit by powered lamps and populated only by a few women who appeared to have bandages over their eyes, diligently sewing oddly-shaped clothing. Violet whispered in Zillon’s ear as quietly as she could, “They can’t see us, but they’ll hear us if we’re not careful.” She began to casually walk across the room, when suddenly a high-pitched whining noise was heard approaching rapidly. Violet took a few steps backward as the sound grew in volume. Zillon tried to look for the source but he couldn’t see anything.

Suddenly, there was an impact and Violet stumbled as something slammed into her leg. “Cirrus! What have I told you about moving so fast without looking where you’re going?” Violet bent down and gently picked up the tiny girl with scraggly black hair who had rammed them.

“I know, but Armorer Willow keeps giving me these big boxes for urgent delivery, and I can’t see over them!” She gestured to a dented box lying on the ground at Violet’s feet. Cirrus couldn’t have been more than two-and-a-half feet tall even including the wheeled chassis she had in place of legs.

“Just don’t go so fast you hurt yourself or damage your body. We don’t have many parts left for bodies like yours.” Violet patted her on the head and handed her the box.

“I know. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on duty right now?” Cirrus said mischievously.

“Yeah, well… I was…. Hungry. Elm has us working such long shifts right now, and I’ll be starved by the end of my shift. I’m just running down to the kitchen. You won’t tell anyone, will you, Cirrus?”

“Of course not. Just hurry up, everyone’s on edge today. Especially Overseer Elm.”

“I’ll be quick, now you’d better hurry if that package is really that urgent.”

Cirrus gasped. “Oh no, I can’t be late again!” Zillon heard her motors spin up and their high-pitched whine retreat down a hallway. Violet waved to Rose and Brook and they used the sound of the little courier girl’s wheels as cover as they snuck past the blind seamstresses.

\---------------------------------------------

“We’ll be safe soon,” Violet whispered to Zillon. We just need to make in through one more room and-“ She froze mid-sentence as they turned the corner. “Elm,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped her leg.

“Violet, what are you doing away from your post?” came a stern female voice from somewhere in front of them.

“Overseer Elm, I must admit I’m not feeling well. I was going to head to the infirmary as soon as I stopped by the barracks to find somebody to take over watch on the eastern gate. Don’t worry, I didn’t leave the entrance unlocked, I made sure the gate was sealed before I left.”

“And what if they have returned while you have abandoned your post? We can not afford to let this situation get out of hand. You of all people should understand the importance of this situation. What do the records say about this, former recordkeeper?” The last words were practically spat out, causing Violet to wince.

“According to the records, the last time an outlander entered the village, we were consumed by chaos, and a great many died.”

“Do you recall how many?”

“Two hundred and thirty-five lives were lost.”

“So you understand why I have little patience for your weakness! I won’t stand idly by while this village crumbles to ruin because you don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done. Now you will return to the Eastern gate and stand watch until someone comes to relieve you. Do I make myself clear.”

“Yes, Perfectly clear Elm.” Zillon could hear the fear in her voice.

“You are to address me by my full title when speaking to me. A lowly guardian like you should learn her place.”

Violet breathed in sharply, and suddenly every muscle in her body was tense. She panted with exertion and gritted her teeth, tears streaming down her face as some unseen force wracked her body. Then it stopped as suddenly as it began. Violet breathed raggedly as her body relaxed.

“Now get back to your post. If they snuck in while you were strolling about, I swear you’ll find yourself in the Pit.”

“Yes, Overseer Elm.”

Violet walked back the way they came, and Rose and Brook came out of the shadows to comfort her.

“Are you alright, Violet? She didn’t hurt you did she.” Brook, said looking up at her friend.

“No, I’ll be fine. It’s only temporary. Unfortunately, I don’t see how I’m going to be able to get Zillon to mother right now. Why don’t the two of you go on ahead. There’s plenty of secret ways to get there, but this body of mine won’t fit through. I’ll be able to sneak in through the feasting hall when we change shifts.”

“That’s at least an hour. Zillon, can you hold on that long?” Rose said, looking in at him through the gap in the armor.

“I think so,” He replied, rubbing his leg. It wasn’t bothering him too much in this position.

“Ok, we’ll go ahead and inform Mother of what’s happening. Be careful, something strange is going on around here, and I don’t like it one bit.”

\---------------------------------------------------------

Violet trudged back to the gate, retracing their steps from earlier. Once there, she stepped behind the gate and around the corner. There she removed her chestplate once more to let the two of them get a much needed breath of fresh air. Violet noticed the pained expression on Zillon’s face. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just my leg.”

“Hold tight, I’m going to lay down.” Violet reclined her giant body on the cold stone floor of the passage. “Better?”

“Yeah.” Zillon tried to get up off of Violet, but found his leg couldn’t bear his weight at all.

“Are you still uncomfortable?” Violet asked, concerned.

“No, it’s just, I don’t want to hang on to you the entire time.” Zillon said blushing.

“Please, don’t worry, I don’t mind it at all. In fact, I am enjoying this closeness. I haven’t felt someone’s touch like this in a very long time,” she said sadly.

They lay there for a while, their bodies pressed together, the cave lit only by the last bits of twilight from outside the cave.

“So, you used to keep the village records?” Zillon asked, partially out of curiosity, and partially to break the silence that had been growing awkward.

“Yes, as a Perfect when you become an adult you are assigned a station. Each Perfect has an important duty to carry out for the good of the people. One manages the food stores, one settles disputes among the people of the village, and I was placed in charge of the records. I studied the records left by those before me every day, and I diligently recorded any major event that happened in the village. For five years I served the people, but it wasn’t enough.”

“What happened?”

“The other Perfects wanted me to serve them, and not the people and our history. I held to my principles and refused to rewrite our history to suit their narrative. When they threatened to replace me, I sent an unaltered coy of the records to the Scrapmother’s chamber.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “I felt in my heart, I was doing the right thing, but they said it was treason.” Her mouth contorted into a grimace. “The Perfects are merciful, so they only took everything from me. My status, my body, my name, these were all replaced so that I could continue to serve the village in a more useful role.” 

“Violet…” Zillon wrapped his arms around her to comfort her.

“I used to be perfect…” She sniffed as tears poured down from underneath the shell covering the top half of her head. “Now look at me. This is me now.” She lifted her huge prosthetic arms into the air, turning her hands over. She let them fall to her sides with a metallic clang, and the two of them laid there in in the darkened tunnel as night fell completely.

\------------------------------------

The darkness was broken by tiny lights embedded in the ceiling turning on. They shined down on the two people lying on the tunnel floor.

“Outlander,” Violet said, breaking the silence. “Or rather, Zillon. If I could be so bold, I’d like to make a request of you.”

“Well, I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do for you, but I can try. What do you need?”

“It’s not really what I need, but… more of… what I want,” she said evasively. “I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

“What do you want me to do for you then.”

“As a Perfect I had one final duty, that I was never able to carry out. Perfects as the name implies are perfect in form, immaculate in body. It is said that ones with perfect genes such as us would have the best chance of bringing healthy, children with untainted bodies into the village. It was my duty, no… my RIGHT to bear children for this village, but that was stolen from me.” She paused, gathering herself for a moment. “Zillon, would it be too much to ask of you to lay with me. To give me a child?”  
Zillon blushed furiously. “I’m not sure, I feel like we’ve just met, and besides I must return to my city. I wouldn’t be able to stay and help with the child.”

“Is that how it is done in your city? Here in the village, children are all raised by the community, so there would be no need for you to stay. With your pure outlander blood, a perfect child would surely be guaranteed.”

Zillon thought about it for a moment, and Violet’s mouth pursed with worry. “Does this body of mine disgust you?”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what? Is it these arms of mine, that can’t even embrace you? Does the atrophy that wracks my remaining flesh make me too frail for your tastes? Or is it that we villagers are too far beneath a proud outlander like yourself?” Another tear rolled down her cheek as her insecurities came boiling to the surface.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” He wiped the tear away with a finger, and placed his hands around the metal dome encasing her head. “I’ll do it gladly, but on one condition.”

“What condition is that?”

“I want to see your face. Your real face.”

“What?!” Violet recoiled within her shell. “You can’t. I’m hideous. You don’t know what they did to me. And besides, only the armory keepers know how to remove the interface helmet.”

“It’s not that complicated.” Zillon said resting his fingers against a hidden button around the back of her helmet. “It’s just a couple of buttons and latches holding this on.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “But I won’t let you change your mind after seeing my face.”

Zillon pushed the button and the gentle hum of motors and servos working could be heard from inside her interface helmet. He gently pulled forwards, unlatching it from the back of the chest cavity and the entire apparatus slowly ascended. Tubes snaked out of her nostrils, and Violet gasped as her face was exposed to the outside air for the first time in months. A direct video feed pulled itself from under her right eyelid, while a neural connection automatically detached from the socket where her left eye once sat, and at last, the helmet fully retracted into the roof of the chest cavity.

Violet blinked, her eye unused to the dry outside air. Zillon ran his hand over the top of her head, scars crisscrossed the left side of her head with scraggly patches of blond hair in between, while on the right side her hair hung shoulder length, wild from its long confinement. Though her eye was red from irritation and crying, she tried desperately to lock her gaze on him.

“You don’t need to worry, you’re still beautiful,” he whispered, telling her exactly what she’d been longing to hear for years. He pulled her close and kissed her and she melted in his arms.

When he broke away, she was panting for breath. "I've... never been kissed like that before."

"That was your first kiss?"

"Yes, well my first time kissing a man." She noticed the strange look he was giving her. "It's not strange to comfort another woman when the Perfects forbid anyone else from even seeing the males."

"I see." Zillon looked down.

"Ah. Could you remove my lower protector as well? There's a button on my hip."

Zillon pressed the button, and the lower body mechanisms retracted downwards. He reached down, brushing his fingers through her unshaved bush and she gasped at his touch. He gently ran two fingers along her lips and she shivered in anticipation.

“It’s been a very long time since I’ve done anything like this either.” Violet said blushing.

“I’ll take it slow.” He reassured her.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear as he began to gently tease her. They kissed as he pleasured her and she was soon moaning into his mouth. She was so sensitive, had had barely done anything and she was already dripping wet.

“That’s enough.” Violet said, suddenly breaking away from him, and he stopped to let her catch her breath. 

Zillon felt a pair of massive metal hands grip him around the waist and lift him upwards. “What are you doing?”

“No, just humor me for a moment.” Violet sat Zillon down on her chest. She strained to lift her head from the back of her chest to get a better look at his member. Zillon could feel her warm breath on his cock as she marveled at it. “I’ve only ever seen one of these in pictures before.”

Violet tried to lick the tip, but she couldn’t quite reach. Zillon shifted his weight, moving the object of her lust within reach. Hungrily, she latched onto the tip of his cock, and began clumsily sucking on it. Letting it pop out of her mouth with a loud sound, she began to trace every vein with her tongue, as if she was trying to memorize its appearance. She savored the musky flavor of this forbidden fruit that she might never taste again. Violet panted with both lust and exertion as she let the outlander’s cock rest against her face. She could feel it throbbing, clearly enjoying receiving this attention as much as she was giving it. 

“I think… I’m ready.” She said, carefully, moving him back into position. They stared at each other for a moment, looking deep into each other’s good eye. Zillon positioned his member against her and began to slowly push in when she stopped him. “Wait.”

“Is something wrong?” Zillon asked.

“No, I have one more selfish favor to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Could you please… call me Maple?”

“Of course, Maple.” Zillon said, then kissed her deeply as he pushed inside her.

Maple was lost in bliss. The dim cave vanished and she imagined herself in the garden in the Perfect’s chambers, the soft grass against her skin and the stars above. It was like a dream, hearing her old name once more whispered into her ear by a lover as they mated. For a while she could forget about everything. All the indignities that had been piled upon her were washed away, and she was once again Recordkeeper Maple. Beautiful, respected, perfect.

“Oh, Zillon.” She moaned his name as he gently thrust into her. She was firmly mounted in her guardian’s body, and Zillon’s injured leg didn’t let him move very well, but he had enough leverage to get a smooth rhythm going. 

“Maple, I ... Hnnnggg” Zillon grunted with exertion. She was tight to begin with and every time he said her name she clamped down like a vise on his cock. He had never done it without a condom before, and the feeling of pleasure was overwhelming. “I think I’m getting close.”

She opened her eye and looked up at him. “Please Zillon, do it. Give me a child.”

He thrust forwards one last time and pulled her close as he came. Maple could fell his warmth spreading through her as the outlander pumped his seed inside her. She whimpered into his shoulder as she came for the first time in years. Maple smiled, pleasure and warmth radiated through her body and she could have sworn she felt his cum flowing into her womb.

\------------------------------------

They lay there in the afterglow, content and satisfied until the sound of bells echoed down the passageway from far off. “Ah, the changing of the guard, my shift is over.” Carefully, supporting Zillon with one hand, Maple opened the portcullis and stepped inside. She began reconnecting her chestplate as heavy footsteps could be heard approaching from the far end of the tunnel. “Keep quiet.” Maple whispered. The hulking form of another guardian strode down the passage towards them. “Posy? Aren’t you normally stationed at the front gate?”

“Yeah, but Overseer Elm is taking command of watching the front gate personally. She thinks I’m too soft.” The other guardian strode over and stood facing Maple as they talked. She sounded maybe a little older than Maple. From what Zillon could see out the gaps in Maple's armor, the other guardian had the same style of body as Maple, but her body was painted a different color and had a different face painted onto her chest.

“Maybe she’s right. I don’t think I’d have it in me to harm those two.”

“Well, I can only hope you won’t see them tonight.”

“For their sake, I hope so.” Posy said sadly, as Maple moved down the hallway.

They briefly joined a procession of other guardians trudging back to their quarters at the end of their shifts, Maple greeted them each in turn, but hung near the back of the line. As they rounded a corner, Maple held back and quietly slipped down a side passage. The narrow hallway soon opened up into a larger causeway, and finally to an immense hall. It was almost like a cathedral in structure, with massive carved stone pillars holding up the roof. Its vaulted ceiling stretched far overhead and a few small lamps hung from its peak, shedding the barest amount of illumination to the cavernous room.

After looking around to be sure they weren’t being followed, Violet opened her chestplate and let Zillon sit in her huge hands for the rest of the trip. “I hate this place.” Maple said as they traversed the dusty room “It’s always so dark and empty here. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve felt uncomfortable walking through here. Like it’s some place I’m not supposed to be.”

Zillon looked around. This place seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

“According to the records, this place used to be a place of celebration. The whole village would gather here on holidays and hold great festivals. Back where there were more of us, that is.” Maple said, trying to drive back the silence surrounding them.

"Maple, what was that other guardian, Posy, talking about? What were you supposed to do if you caught Rose and Brook?"

She hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether to answer. "I was instructed to kill them. No one who has made contact with the outlander is to be spared."

"What!? Shouldn't you have told them?"

"I didn't want to worry them. I'm sure Mother will keep them safe. Then again, I don't know if any of us are safe. The Perfects' control is slipping and they'll do anything to keep it and prevent their secrets from getting out. The workers and even the warriors are reaching their breaking point, but everyone's too afraid to make a move while we guardians still serve the Perfects. This village is like a pile of tinder, and I'm afraid you may be the spark the burns this place to the ground." She chuckled to herself. "And yet again, history repeats itself."

At the end of the hall, they came to a huge gate. Massive doors barred their way, or they would, if they hadn’t been left open a crack. The gap in the doors was more than large enough for Maple to slip though and they continued on into the total darkness beyond.

“Is this the only way to get to where Mother is?” Zillon asked. He could feel that they were traveling downwards. The slope of the dark passage bringing them ever deeper into the bowels of the mountain.

“No, but it’s the quickest.”

“Why would she live all the way down here?”

“Mother doesn’t have a choice. She can’t exactly leave.”

Zillon didn’t quite understand, but he decided not to ask. He’d have his answers soon enough. He saw a slight blue glow off in the distance and Maple quickened her pace. They turned the corner to be greeted with the welcoming light of powered lamps.  
From that point on, the halls were well lit by the ancient lamps high on the walls. Their light illuminated beautiful murals and paintings untouched by the ravages of time. The architecture was familiar to Zillon, he’d seen it so many times before. As they approached a heavy metal door that opened automatically at their approach he felt a familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. A mix of awe, fear, and trepidation; this was a place of reverence.

He already knew that there were still three gates beyond this. He didn’t need to look at the walls to see what the paintings depicted, for he already knew this as well. As they approached the final gate he looked above its mantle to see a grand emblem mounted above it. It depicted a stylized sun, with four outstretched wings reaching from behind it, a symbol not unknown to him: the emblem of the lost city of Ardon Prime.

At last the door opened and blinding white light streamed from within. Maple continued to walk and by the time his eyes were adjusted to the light, he found himself at the foot of a grand staircase beneath a silver throne, flanked by a dozen young maidens. Upon the seat was a figure of immense presence, an inhumanly tall woman with silver skin. A tangle of cables and glowing blue tubes ran from the woman’s back up to the ceiling. Her face was masklike and had no discernible nose or mouth, just piercing blue eyes. 

Maple set Zillon on his feet, but he fell to his knees before the façade as he had been trained to do. To stand in the presence of one such as her without permission could be fatal. Without even thinking, he spoke the greeting he’d memorized, “I bring tidings from afar and offer my services to the master of Ardon Prime.”

His words hung in the air for a moment. No one dared break the awkward silence. Sweat beaded on Zillon’s brow and his leg began to throb with pain, but he dared not look up. Suddenly, the façade on the throne laughed, a delicate, gentle laugh, like soft chimes. 

“Do my sisters really enforce such formal greetings? They always did have a taste for the dramatic.” Her voice seemed to come from various points in the room simultaneously. It was obvious to Zillon that several of the speakers were either disabled or broken, as the effect intended to awe any assembled subjects merely sounded disjointed.

Zillon heard footsteps approach and he looked up as he felt her gaze upon him. The façade was standing only feet away from him; he’d never been this close to one before. From this close, he could see just how weathered she was. Her metal skin, once gleaming was now pitted and scratched. Jagged cracks that had been carefully mended spread across the surface of her body like spider webs.

She reached down and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please relax. I’d prefer if you weren’t so formal with me. These long years of disrepair and decay have taught me humility, if nothing else.” She motioned for him to rise. 

Zillon tried, to get up but a sudden twinge of pain made him stumble. His leg gave out and he fell to the floor, clutching it. The façade’s eyes glowed bright blue and she knelt beside him, placing a hand on his injured leg. “it’s worse than I’d feared. It’s become severely infected.” She turned to look at him. “Zillon, mechanic of Brunan Prime, I wish to make a deal with you. Help restore my functions, and I will save your life and restore your body. Help me save this village, and I’ll see that you get safely to your destination.”

“Save this village? I don’t know if I can promise that.”

The façade stood up and glared down at him. “That is your choice to make. However, in the matter of your leg, you truly have no choice.” She gently placed a sharp silver foot on his leg and Zillon cried out in agony. It felt like she was twisting a knife in the wound. “Without my help, you will die within days. After you recover, and aid me in some troublesome repairs, I will gladly let you leave. If you think you can escape from the Council, and cross two hundred miles of arid wasteland on foot without my assistance, then I will not stop you.” Though she had no mouth, he could tell she was smiling.

Zillon sighed, as he saw himself becoming more entangled in the troubles of this so-called village. “What is it you want me to do?”


	2. The Mountain's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zillon is brought before the Scrapmother who wants to make a deal with him. He finds himself forced to conduct repairs on the core of the ruined city.

As the Scrapmother’s attendants cleaned around his wounds, the voice of the once-great city’s mind engine could be heard from a tinny-sounding speaker mounted near the ceiling. “I still have a small number of drones under my command that I can use for minor repairs, but my capabilities are very limited at this point.”

“I’m sure your resources had run out long ago. Ah!” Zillon winced as one of the maidens daubed at his leg with an antiseptic-soaked rag.

“That’s not the main problem. We’ve got by with what we have for quite a long time now. It just takes some creativity. No the main issue is my own personal maintenance. I’m sure you’re well aware there are certain areas that are beyond even my reach.”   
“The sealed sector,” Zillon said solemnly.

“Precisely. I don’t blame you humans for putting my vital systems in an area I am forbidden from entering, but it has caused me no end of grief. In particular, my cooling and refrigeration systems have been severely neglected. I was able to maintain my functions by diverting the city’s water supply through my core as a rudimentary cooling system, but I am only operating at ten percent efficiency. I need a skilled mechanic like yourself to enter the sealed sector, perform an assessment as to what can be salvaged, and try to restore power to my cooling systems. For this, I will give you a leg and an eye.”

“Sounds like a fair deal,” Zillon said. He looked over at the maiden tightening a strap over his arm. “Is there a reason I’m being restrained?

“With my manufacturing capabilities hindered as they are, much of my medical supplies, including painkillers and anesthetics, are from quite old stock and their effectiveness may be suspect.” The maiden assisting in strapping him down to the table finished tightening the restraints and quietly slipped out of the room.

“Wait, the anesthetics might not work?” Zillon asked. With a whirring sound a metal arm bearing a sizable syringe descended from the ceiling. The needle suddenly stabbed into his shoulder injecting its contents. “Ah! Nnngh!” Zillon cried out as the oversized injector pumped the mysterious liquid into his bloodstream.

“It should work, but I used a little extra just in case.” The tinny voice of the Scrapmother said. An even louder whirring sound came from above as several more metal arms descended from above. Each one had a scalpel, saw or other tool mounted to it. The scalpel slowly lowered towards Zillon’s leg. He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the pain, but he suddenly found it difficult to focus. Zillon’s vision blurred, and as the machines above him went to work, he felt nothing. He closed his eyes for what felt like only a second, but when he opened them again, the room was dark. 

The only light in the room was a blue glow coming from somewhere to his right. He turned to look at the source of the light, and saw a screen displaying a readout of his vitals. He tried to get up off of the operating table, but he found he was still strapped down to it. With a sigh, he turned back to face the ceiling.

“Awake already? Such a quick recovery.” said a tinny voice close to his ear.

Zillon gasped in surprise and turned to his left to find himself face to face with the facade of Ardon Prime. Her inhumanly tall body knelt next to the table with her emotionless face just inches from his. He’d never been so close to a facade before. The closest he’d ever been was seeing one across the room during a ceremony while he was in to conduct repairs.

“I apologize for questioning your medical capabilities,” he said remembering what had happened right before he lost consciousness.

“There's no need for that,” she said. “Your heart rate is increasing. Do I make you nervous?”

“A little.” Zillon said, then paused. “Well, more than a little. In Brunan Prime, the master of the city is like a god, and commands absolute respect. To even dare to speak without being spoken to would be unthinkable. To question her wisdom would be asking for a harsh punishment. I don’t even know all the proper decorum to use when speaking to one such as yourself.”

“Please, don’t even think of such formalities when addressing me. The times when I commanded such respect are long past.” She stood up and turned away from him. “No, I am not a god, or even a queen. The only thing I could be said to rule is this scrapheap at the bottom of this city.” She paused as she glided along the floor of the room, her movements silent except for the sounds of cables and tubes being dragged behind her. “I almost forgot I did come in here for a reason.”

“You...forgot?” Zillon said, confused. He didn’t know it was even possible for a mind engine to forget things. “What was it you came in here for? Did you need something from me.”

“Yes, in fact I did. I wanted to speak with you.” 

“Why would you want to talk to me?”

“Well, we’ve only just met and I’m already asking you to go deep inside of me. I think I should at least get to know you a little first.”

Zillon blushed. “It sounds strange when you put it like that. It’s not quite like that.”

“Isn’t it, though?” She took a step forwards. “I’ll be letting you deep inside the very core of my being, allowing you to rummage around in my memory banks, tinker with my processors, and leave dirty fingerprints on my logic units.”

“Dirty fingerprints? I would never do that.” Zillon was offended by the suggestion.

“No?” The facade moved closer and leaned in. “Not even if I want you to?”

“Wh-what?” 

“That’s right, go ahead and leave your mark inside me. No one would ever know except you and I. It could be our little secret.” 

Zillon blushed even harder and he could hear a strange tinkling sound that he realized was the Scrapmother laughing. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Perhaps,” the Scrapmother said, laughing aloud. “It’s been many years since I had someone as easy to tease as you around.”

Zillon sighed. “I just don’t get it.” He had never heard of a mind engine acting like this. He had heard they were methodical, serious, and commanding, but not capricious or jovial. Maybe this one simply had a drastically different personality, maybe she had changed after her downfall, or maybe it was just the fact that she was running at reduced efficiency after years, if not centuries, of faulty cooling. 

The facade stood up, and as she did, the lights in the room slowly brightened. “If you’re not feeling any pain right now then the implantation of the interface surfaces must have been a success.” She spoke, her voice now coming through the room speakers. The door slid open and two of her attendants were standing outside. “Come in, let’s get him off this table.” She turned back to Zillon and the two young girls dressed in white came in and began unbuckling the straps. “The leg and eye I gave you are temporary but they should be sufficient for the task at hand. If you make the repairs I have requested, I will outfit you with more suitable replacements.” Her attendants lifted the tangle of hoses and wires off the ground and followed behind as she turned at glided out of the room.

The leg he had been given was nothing special. Zillon was lucky enough to have only lost the lower part of his leg and foot, with his knee still healthy and intact. The skeletal-looking prosthetic extended from just below his knee to a smooth toe-less foot. Looking more closely, small scratches and blemishes that someone had tried to buff out could be seen along the length of the shin. It was hand-me-down, to be sure, but it was rugged and sturdy. His new eye was also working fine. The image was a little grainy and dull, but at least it gave him back is depth perception. Nothing like the high-grade prosthetics back home, but perfectly serviceable.

Zillon was testing out the range of motion of his new eye when he heard a metallic tapping at the door. Rose stood in the doorway, waiting for him. “Feeling any better?” she asked.

“Yeah. There’s no pain from my leg or eye at all.” Zillon said. He walked across the room testing his balance with the new leg. It would take some time to get used to.

“Mother can fix anyone. Every arm, leg, and body in the village was given to us by Mother, and when we die, these limbs she has loaned us will be returned to her. Passed on to the next one who needs them.” Rose suddenly stopped and rummaged around in a pack at her waist. “I almost forgot. Mother told me to give your tools back to you and to tell you she fixed them as best as she could.” Rose handed Zillon his fusion tool, now cleaned of Tunneler blood, and his shine-field generator, which now sported a new power cell.

“I’ll have to thank her later.” Zillon clipped the tools to his belt.

“Mother says you're going to do some repairs for her?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“I think Mother’s eager to get started. She already has Brook trying to open a huge door somewhere below us. Are you ready?” she asked, stepping out into the hallway.

Zillon checked his belt for his tools out of habit. “I guess so,” he said before following Rose down the hallway.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several levels down, Rose led Zillon through the corridors of what used to be the central core of the city. There were no decorations or gaudy murals on this level, just long-dead defensive autoturrets occasionally revealed by the sparse light from the few functioning lamps. As they walked, Zillon thought he heard a clanging sound. Thinking it must be his own new leg, he stopped walking, but the sound only grew louder.

“Rose, do you hear that sound?” She stopped as well, and the clanging sound only grew louder still.

“Oh, that. It’s best to pretend you don’t hear it.” As she finished speaking an unearthly howl echoed through the hallway and the clanging grew more furious. Zillon looked around worriedly, and Rose walked back to stand beside him. “Here, walk beside me. We should be perfectly safe in here, but I do admit, it does unnerve even me sometimes.”

“What is it though? It sounds like some kind of monster.” Zillon couldn’t help but look behind him, fearful that at any second some horrible monster would come barreling down the hallway.

“I suppose it is. Down this low, you can hear the sounds of The Beast thrashing around in the pit beneath the village.”

“The Beast?” Zillon stopped walking.

“Let’s keep moving, I’ll explain. According to legend, the Beast is a terrible creature that was here before the village was,. It wants to escape but it can’t climb the steep walls of the pit where it lives, so it pounds on the walls and howls in fury every night. Children in the village sometimes put their ears to the pipes late at night to see if they can hear the Beast banging around below.”

“But it’s not just a legend, it’s real?”

“Yes, and the perfects won’t let us forget how real it is. There’s a shaft that runs from the top of the mountain to the bottom, and at the bottom is an immense cavern. Anyone who commits the most heinous of crimes, usually those who rebel against the perfects, will be thrown into the pit, where the Beast devours them. It’s almost certain when this is all over if Brook and I don’t end up exiled, we’ll find ourselves at the bottom of the pit with the Beast.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry for...” Zillon couldn’t think about what to apologize for. For not dying in that crash?

“No, it’s not your fault. We would have eventually been forced to choose between Mother and the perfects. You just happened to force the issue.” As they turned a corner the sounds of the Beast’s rage fell behind them and a brightly lit chamber came into view. Rose pointed with her scythe at an insectoid figure struggling to move a giant slab of rock. “Look, there’s Brook, we’re here.” 

The room ahead was sparse and uninteresting, with nothing to signify its purpose. One of the walls had caved in and a massive slab of rubble had been purposefully placed across the door leading beyond. Brook was trying to move the slab with all the strength her mechanical body could muster, but it wouldn’t budge. She noticed their arrival and stopped to catch her breath. “Sorry, I had hoped to have this out of the way before you got here.”

“Let me help,” Rose said. “The guards sealed this passage, I think, so I’m not sure you’d be strong enough to move it on your own.” She walked over and grabbed the edge of the slab with her gripping arms. “We’ll both push on the count of three.”   
“Right.”

“One, two, three!” Both sisters pushed in unison and the massive slab of wall began to slide. Inch by inch they pushed the barrier out of the way until Rose’s foot slipped out from under her and she fell unceremoniously to the ground.

“Oh no, are you alright?” Brook said, stopping to help her sister up.

“I’m fine, just landed on my face.” She moved her arms around trying to figure out how to best assess whether she was injured or not. Neither her claws nor her scythes was well suited to checking for a broken nose.

“Let me see.” Brook said, as Zillon walked over. She gingerly touched Rose’s nose. “Does this hurt? Oh no, you’re bleeding.”

“I’b fine. Is jus’ a bloody nose,” Rose said, trying to reassure her.

“I think that might be far enough,” Zillon said looking at the opening they’d made. “I think I can squeeze through there.” He wiggled through the gap to demonstrate. It was a tight fit, and a one of the edges of the slab dug painfully into his chest, but he managed to get behind it.

“We won’t be able to follow you through.” Brook said, peering through the gap at Zillon.

“That’s alright, It’s something I have to do alone anyways.”

“But-” Brook started to protest, but Rose cut her off.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. We’ll be out here waiting for you. If you’re not back by morning, we will… well, I suppose we’ll find someone smaller to send in to look for you.”

“I have no idea how long this will take, but I’ll try to come back out by morning to check in.” Zillon fished around in his tool bag and pulled out his watch. After verifying that it was still working, he strapped it on and checked the time. A little before midnight.  
“Alright, I’ll be back in 8 hours.”

“Good luck,” Brook said as he walked down the dark hallway and opened the heavy door at the end.

Behind the door, was a short featureless hallway, barely fifteen feet long, and lit from above. Beyond that was a second door with a mechanism on the wall next to it. He grabbed a handle and began to slowly rotate it until it clicked. The door slid open with a grinding sound, and Zillon stepped inside. As he crossed the threshold, lights turned on in the room beyond, briefly blinding him. When his eyes adjusted he was shocked by what he saw before him. 

The room was almost like a cathedral, a grand monument to the mind contained within. Zillon had been in such a chamber as this twenty-seven times before, but he had never seen one in such a sorry state. The room was half flooded and swelteringly hot, with banks of machines submerged beneath the flowing water. The air was thick with moisture, to the point it was almost difficult to breathe. Zillon stepped further into the room, looking for the source of the water. As he walked to the top of the stairs leading down into the room, he could see it. A massive hole had been crudely ripped in the wall, and water poured down through it. At the opposite end of the room an air vent seemed to have been repurposed as a drain, as the water endlessly flowed into it. Zillon sighed, he didn’t even know where to start. His thoughts were interrupted by a drop of water falling onto his head. He looked up to see the cathedral ceiling spiderwebbed with cracks, and even more water dripping down from above.

“It’s way too hot in here,” Zillon said to himself. “First order of business, assess the damage in the cooling system.” Wiping away the sweat that was already dripping down his face, he took one last moment to check that his tools were safely in his (thankfully waterproof) pack. He scanned the room, trying to remember the layout. “If I remember right, the control circuits for the cooling are… over there.” he said with a sigh. Of course, they were on the other side of the room sitting in the water. He rolled up his pant legs, took one step onto the stairs, and instantly lost his footing on a thick layer of scum that had formed at the edge of the water.

Zillon slid feet-first into the water, and would have been swept away by the current had he not instinctively grabbed onto the railing as he fell. The water was much deeper than he thought it would be, and the current was much faster. He shoved his tool bag between two bars of the handrail so he could hold on with both hands. Unable to get any traction with his feet, he had to pull himself out using just his arms. 

With some effort, he finally managed to climb back out of the water and heave himself onto the dry stone floor. “Well, this is off to a great start,” he grumbled to himself. Zillon stripped off his soaking-wet clothes, leaving only his undergarments, and laid them out on the ground to dry, though he doubted they would in such humid air. He walked back over to the water’s edge, and planned his descent.

This time, Zillon gave up on trying to use the stairs. He skipped the first few steps, using the handrail to lower himself into the water. There, he turned around and picked up his bag. However, now that he was in the water, there was another problem: actually moving across the room. The flow of water was strong enough to make moving difficult, especially when the uncomfortably warm water was up to his chest. Wading through it was almost impossible. Through some trial and error, he figured out he could swim across the surface of the water by holding his bag in front of him. Zillon kicked off of a towering bank of circuitry, and swam the length of the room using all of his strength. He was exhausted when he finally made it there. Letting the water push him against the case of the towering rack of circuits behind him, Zillon panted and struggled to catch his breath. “I’m going to get overheated if I work too fast,” he said to himself. “Got to take it slow.” He rested for a minute before making his way around the side of the tower. There, he immediately saw the problem.

A massive hole had been gouged into the side of the case and inside wires and connectors had been torn out with wild abandon. He pulled down a panel in the side, and set his bag on top of it. He always had some spare cables and wires on him, but not enough for damage like this. Some components were even completely missing. He picked his tool bag back up and climbed out of the water up to a second level. 

Up here there were rows and rows of smaller machines connected to the ceiling by thick cables. Since the water didn’t reach up here, they were all disabled to keep them from overheating. If the Scrapmother didn’t need these units right now, it probably wouldn’t hurt to salvage parts from one or two. Zillon walked down the rows inspecting the units and trying to remember their purpose. It likely didn’t matter since each one was cleaved into and savaged just like the first. Suddenly, he saw a figure crouched against a processing unit in the row next to him. He leaped behind a processor and fumbled in his bag for his fusion tool. Holding it in front of him like a knife, he activated its light. Illuminated before him was a skeletal figure, long since dried to a husk. His hands still tightly grasped a metal axe embedded in the machine in front of him. “Swung too hard and hit into the power conduit didn’t you? Poor bastard,” Zillon said as the pulled him away from the machine. “Looks like I can strip this one for parts. Too much internal damage,” he said to himself as he looked into the hole gouged in the side. He checked his watch. A half hour had already passed. “Better get this job underway.” Zillon pulled down the side panel, strapped his lamp onto his head, and got to work.

\--------------------------------------

Zillon wiped sweat from his brow before closing up a panel on the side of the towering machine. There was only one last thing to do. Stepping around to the side where the axe had split the case, he gently pushed a card back into its socket. He could hear fans kick on inside the machine as it slowly came back to life. Looking back over his work, he noticed a smudge on the corner of the card he’d just inserted. Looking more closely, he realized it was a fingerprint he’d left on a metal shield. He was about to wipe it away, but changed his mind and closed up the case.

Suddenly there was an immense grinding sound that came from above the ceiling. Ventilation systems that had been shut down for decades if not a century, slowly began to move. Dust and dirt billowed from the air vents in the ceiling, causing Zillon to cough and close his eyes. He felt ice cold air blow onto his body, and the warm water he was wading in began to recede. The flow of water into the room reduced to a trickle then stopped, and the remaining water flowed down the vent and out of the room. Zillon soon found himself wet and cold, in the now freezing room.

He quickly climbed back up to the level above to check his handiwork. He was able to salvage several of the machines, which were now booting up. A shiver when down his spine and he suddenly felt very cold. He had almost forgotten that these rooms were usually kept as cold as possible. Zillon raised his hands up towards the heat sinks on top of the machines, but they weren’t putting out nearly enough heat to keep him warm.

The temperature dropped rapidly as Zillon trekked back across the cavernous room. The treacherous steps even had frost on them by the time he reached them. Taking no chances, he held on to the handrail the entire time, and still almost slipped when he got to the top. His new leg just didn’t have the grip he was used to. By this time, Zillon was shivering badly and his teeth were chattering. He usually did his work dressed warmly, not nearly naked and soaking wet. Keeling down to pick up his clothes, he was disappointed to find that they were still damp and almost frozen. He resigned himself to just soldiering on, picked up his bag, and headed for the door.

As he stepped through and rotated the door switch, he nearly collapsed. Nearly eight hours of working in uncomfortable conditions, followed by a march through a freezing cold room had left him exhausted. The sound of the door sliding shut and latching behind him woke him up, and he slowly got to his feet. Although this hallway was only fifteen feet, it felt like it was a mile long. The door at the far end stood ominously. He remembered how heavy it was. Opening it was tough enough at his full strength. He pushed, and pushed, using all the strength he had left. Slowly the door creaked open, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of freedom. Zillon squeezed himself through the gap he’d made and didn’t bother to shut the door behind him. He stumbled over to the gap between the slab and the wall and wriggled through, before collapsing in a heap on the ground. 

Zillon almost passed out when he was brought back to reality by the metallic tapping of sharp metal legs approaching. “Zillon!” Brook yelled, and rushed over. She gingerly lifted him up to a sitting position with her pincers and sat down on the ground beside him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She looked down at him and blushed, “And what happened to your clothes?” 

“They got wet. I’m fine, I’m just… tired and cold.” 

“You’re cold?” Brook reached out and touched his shoulder. “You’re freezing, what happened in there?”

“I fixed it… fixed the cooling system.” Zillon struggled to get to his feet. Brook held out a pincer and he pulled himself up with it.

“Can you walk?” Brook said, as she got to her feet.

“I think so,” Zillon said. He took one step and stumbled a bit.

“Just let me carry you back up to Mother.”

“No, I’ll be...” He suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He had to stop himself mid-sentence to keep on his feet.

“Please...” Brook pleaded.

He gave up on being stubborn. “Fine. You can carry me.” Zillon climbed onto Brook’s back and she looked over her shoulder at him. He could tell by her eyes she was smiling.  
“I don’t mind carrying you around. Carrying things is my job.” Brook kept talking, but Zillon didn’t hear any more of it. He had already drifted off to sleep.

\------------------------------------------------------

“You’re quite the sound sleeper.” Zillon snapped awake. He was back in the Scrapmother’s operating room, strapped to the table. 

He looked down with his one eye, to see that his new leg was missing. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing to worry about. I let you rest, then I brought you here to get fitted for your new leg and eye.”

“Alright, but why am I strapped down again, and why am I naked?” Zillon asked, taking another look at himself. He looked around the room, it was empty aside from him. The Scrapmother didn’t send in her facade this time, instead she spoke to him through the speakers on the ceiling.

“You did excellent work in there, you know.” She said, avoiding the question. “The cooling and refrigeration systems both in and outside my core are up and running at 85% capacity, and my overall efficiency has increased to 37%. Did you happen to find anything surprising inside my core?” One of the cameras on the ceiling turned to wards him and focused in on his face. “You did, didn’t you.”

“You told me your systems were failing due to neglect, you didn’t mention somebody had been taking an axe to your processing units.”

“It’s partly true, I have been thoroughly neglected by my wayward children. Some time ago, I can’t recall how many years, some miscreants defiled my core with their presence. They sought to wound me, to weaken me, and take this city for themselves.”

“That’s why it was sealed?”

“Yes, but it was already too late. With my cooling failing, my systems shut down one by one, and eventually I had to shut down the refrigeration in my storerooms. In order to save my last genetic samples. I gave them to volunteers. They birthed children here in the garden, in total secrecy, and left those six young maidens with me as my attendants.” She paused, watching his reaction. “Did you happen to see their secret while they were bathing you?”

“Well, I mean, it was hard not to notice. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

She laughed as Zillon squirmed. “Yes, calling them ‘maidens’ is a bit of a lie, but it’s kept them out of the eyes of the Perfects until now.”

“Were the Perfects the ones who sabotaged you?” Zillon changed the subject.

“I’m sure of it. Those so-called ‘perfects’ like to think they no longer need their mother, but I know their secret. They're as rotten on the inside as they are pristine on the outside. Despite having total control over reproduction, there haven’t been any new children born in the village in six years. Now why do you think that is?” She laughed coldly. “If the people of the village knew their secret, they’d riot.”

“Why don’t you tell them then?” Zillon asked.

“The time is not right. The storm is still growing, but I may now have the strength to weather it. Although, it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan. That is where you come in.” The ceiling opened up and metal arms holding a dizzying array of tools descended from above.

“What? What do you mean? What does this have to do with me?” Zillon looked worried.

“Now that my refrigeration and cooling systems are online again, I need to refill my stock of genetic samples. It would go quite a long ways towards your half of the bargain of saving the village.” As she spoke, flexible metallic tendrils snaked up from beneath the table. One of them reached over his legs and began to coil itself around his exposed member.

“Hey, wait! You can’t do this. I didn’t agree to this!” Zillon protested. He tried to wriggle free, but the straps holding him down on the table were far too tight.

“Why not. I’m afraid I don’t understand. You seemed to have no problem with donating some of your genetic material to Maple.” The screen to Zillon’s right flickered to life and began showing a video feed from a camera hidden high on the ceiling of a particular dark tunnel. In the video, Zillon could see himself thrusting against the village guardian.

Zillon looked away, his face beet-red. “That was-” he began to say, but he was interrupted by a screen to his left suddenly turning on. On the screen a recording of Brook eagerly giving head to the repairman played.

“Perhaps it’s that you’d prefer to give your seed out directly. Shall I request some of my children to come down here, and line up to lay with you?” Her voice dripped with false kindness.

“No, that’s… that won’t be necessary.” Zillon tried to look down, away from the accusing screens. Audio feeds captured from some hidden microphone began to play loudly. The sound of Brook and Violet’s moans made certain he couldn’t just close his eyes to escape.

“Are you certain? It would be no trouble at all for me.” The smooth metal appendage began to stroke his cock. There was no way he’d be able to stop himself from getting hard in this situation.

“No just,” He sighed. “Just do whatever you want with me.”

The Scrapmother laughed, “How presumptuous to think I need your permission. You’re not in much of a position to bargain.” The screens went dark, leaving only a single powered lamp on the ceiling to illuminate the room.

It was nearly too dark to see, and Zillon couldn’t move his head much with his chest strapped to the table, but he could feel the tendril still stroking his cock. He was just thinking that it actually felt good when one of the metal arms descended from the ceiling over top of his body. He couldn’t quite make out what it was in the dim light, but the tendril stopped stroking and held his shaft still. “What’s tha-” He gasped as a small tube was inserted into his urethra. It didn’t hurt, but the sensation was alien and shocking.  
“Is that… really necessary?” Zillon said through clenched teeth.

“I want to make sure I get every drop. Well, I also wanted to see the look on your face as it went in. It was quite an exquisite expression.” A second mechanical arm lowered from the ceiling, clamping some kind of device tightly around his cock. It felt warm and wet.

“The look on my face?” Zillon said. He paused as the machine began to stroke his cock with the sleeve it had clamped around it. It slowly moved forwards allowing him to feel every rubbery ridge inside as they were pulled over the head of his cock. “Why are-Ah!” His question was interrupted as the sleeve was dragged back down over his glans.

“Sensitive, are we?” she said. “Ah, it’s been decades since I’ve had the chance to tease someone like this.” Zillon thought that maybe her emotional regulators were damaged, but then again, this might just be how she is. There was a decent chance that everything he thought he knew about the mind-engines of the great cities was a lie. “Let’s speed this up.” the voice from the speakers said, interrupting his thoughts, and the arm holding the sleeve began to move faster and faster. 

Moving with perfect mechanical precision it stoked his cock expertly. Zillon could feel the pressure building up inside. And just as he was about to cum, the arm suddenly stopped and loosened its grip on him. “What? Why did you stop?” he asked. Precum leaked from around the tube, dripping down onto his stomach as his cock stood twitching in the open air.

“If I’m reading your heart rate and breathing correctly, you were about to orgasm, correct?”

“Yes, I was,” Zillon said through gritted teeth. “What’s going on, I thought you wanted my… ngh!” His thought was interrupted when the arm clamped down and began to stroke again.

“Your what?” I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you.” She said with a laugh.

The arm abruptly stopped stroking Zillon’s cock again, leaving him twitching and frustrated. He squirmed against his restraints. “What do you want from me?” he asked.

“I told you what I wanted from you,” Slowly and methodically, she dragged the rubbery sleeve over his shaft. “Is this… not good enough?”

She was moving slow enough that it was keeping him on the very edge of release. “Please.. Just... do it, already.” Zillon pleaded.

“Do what?”

“Let me… ngh… just let me cum already!”

“Oh, like this?” The arm began to move at furious pace, pushing Zillon over the edge instantly. He gripped the edges of the table as his came almost painfully hard. Milky white liquid slowly flowed up the tube leading out of his dick and into a small vial attached to the machinery above.

As he lay on the table, catching his breath, there was a whirring sound from above. The arm holding the sleeve on his cock retracted, and a different tool descended from above. There was a loud click sound and the bottom end of the table split, spreading his legs apart. “Wait, what’s going on now?”

“Do you seriously think once would be enough? That’s not nearly enough to go around. Now, if you’ll just relax, I’ll get you hard again shortly.”

He tried to pick his head up off the table, but he couldn’t raise it up high enough to see what she was doing. The mechanical arm moved between his legs and he felt something wet press against his ass. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Shh, just relax. You got to mess around inside of me, it’s only fair I get to do the same to you.”

“I wasn’t… ah.” While he was distracted with speaking, the arm gently pushed the tool inside. Whatever it was, it was smooth and narrow. Not painful, but another feeling he’d never experienced before.

“You weren’t what? Messing around inside my core? I have no vision there, no way to know what you were actually doing. For all I know, you could have been leaving fingerprints everywhere.”

“No I… I didn’t! I mean… not everywhere,” Zillon stammered as she gently probed inside him.

“You did, didn’t you?” The Scrapmother said, feigning anger. “I was only joking and you left your dirty fingerprints inside my core.” 

“It was just one!” He protested.

“Just one? Any one of my sisters would have you killed for that. Dissected alive to harvest your organs then killed. The audacity, to leave your mark on me. Your filthy human oils staining my circuitry. It might be there for a thousand years or more. Ahhh,” the Scrapmother moaned, her metallic voice echoing through the room. The thought of the handyman leaving his mark on her giving her a perverse pleasure, Zillon couldn’t quite understand. “Ah, there it is!” she exclaimed suddenly. The mechanical appendage moving inside him stopped at a spot that felt strange, and it began to vibrate.

Zillon gasped. It felt bizarre, but good. Despite the fact that he had just came, his cock began to swell once more. Once he was hard again, another arm descended from above. It grabbed onto the head of his cock and began to gently vibrate as well. Two of the metallic tendrils from before reached up over the table and across his chest. They attached two small devices to his nipples which began to vibrate as well.

“This feels… strange.” The sensations coming from all over Zillon’s body were overwhelming.

“But does it feel good?” 

“I think… ah… I think so.” The vibrations sent waves of pleasure through his body. This all-out assault on his senses was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and it was getting hard to think, let alone speak. 

The Scrapmother chuckled “Already having trouble? Let’s see how well you do on a higher setting.”

Zillon gasped as the vibrators doubled in speed. His cock felt almost numb, but he could feel another orgasm building up inside of him. Eyes rolling back in his head, he gripped the sides of the table for support as he came for the second time in less than 10 minutes.

“There, is that enough?” Zillon said. He shivered as the tool was slowly pulled out of him and retracted into the ceiling.

“Not even close. Look you’ve only filled one vial.”

Zillon looked up at the ceiling. A glass vial, filled to the brim with semen was detached from the pump that extracted it from him and pulled into the ceiling. The apparatus then rotated bringing another vial into view and attaching it to the pump. “Come on, I don’t think I’ve got anymore left in me. We can continue this later, maybe tomorrow.”

“I think I’d rather take care of this today. Why don’t we try a little experiment?” With a whirring sound, another robotic arm descended from the ceiling, this one holding a syringe.

“What is that?” Zillon said, more than a little worried.

“A syringe, of course.” she said smugly.

“I can see that, but what’s in the syringe?”

“An aphrodisiac of sorts. Now that some of my systems are coming back online, I can synthesize chemicals again. Let’s see how well it works, shall we?”

The arm descended between Zillon’s legs. Zillon strained and struggled against his bonds to see what was going on. “No, no no no. I don’t like where this is going,” he said.

“I’d advise you not to move,” she said, which was followed by a sharp pain in his groin.

Zillon sucked in air through his teeth. “Was it necessary to do that there?”

“No, but it should help it get to work faster. See? It’s already taking effect.”

Zillon looked down to see his cock already standing at full mast. A strange warmth began to spread through his body. An immense pressure began building up inside him, an urgent need for release. “What’s happening to me?”

“The drug is taking effect, though it looks like it might be a little strong. Now I just have to...” As she clamped the sleeve over his cock once more, the burning, throbbing need that was already consuming Zillon reached a fever pitch. He moaned shamelessly as the soft sleeve slipped around his length and came immediately.

All Zillon was aware of was pleasure. His sense of touch overwhelmed all his other senses. It was as if a dense fog blocked all else except the feeling of pleasure coming from his cock. Only fleeting memories of other senses remained. A brief, but sharp, pain as he was injected a second time, a vague memory of walking, and a dull ache that grew over time. Finally, the fog began to clear as the last of his strength drained from his body. He repeated the motion he’d been unconsciously repeating for what may have been hours, thrusting against the body beneath him, before collapsing into her waiting arms.

Her arms? Whose arms were these? He thought to himself as the cold metal arms held him to the body he lay on top of. Who was this, that he was with? His memory was still blank, though the fog was being slowly replaced by a throbbing headache.

“I must apologize,” the voice of the Scrapmother said from somewhere above him. “The aphrodisiac I gave you was far too strong. I had to partially sedate you or your heart may have given out.” Zillon blinked. He looked up to see the face of the Scrapmother’s Facade. She ran a hand through his hair as she continued. “Do not be alarmed. You did even better than I expected.”

“Why should I not be alarmed?” Zillon said, frantically looking around the room to see if there was anyone watching. Though the lights had been dimmed, he could tell they were on a bench in the audience chamber, and there was thankfully no one around. Looking down he could see that he had apparently been at this for some time as there were lines of dried fluid all over the facade’s lower body. “I’ve defiled your facade.” he said in horror.

The facade held him close and continued to stroke his hair, trying to comfort him. “You’re making far too much of this act. This body you see here is an appendage of mine, like any other. To me it is no different from any of the tools I used on you in the operating room. Although, I suppose you could consider this a reward for a job well done. You managed to completely fill eight vials, which is no small feat. More than enough to father hundreds of children...” She paused “With careful management to ensure the gene pool isn’t diluted too much, of course.”

“That’s great, I suppose…” Zillon thought. The idea of having hundreds of children wasn’t hugely appealing to him.

“Did you notice that I replaced your eye and leg again?” 

“No, I guess I didn’t.” Zillon looked down at his leg, the crude prosthetic had been swapped for a piece of exquisite craftsmanship. It was strong and perfectly matched to the weight and heft of a flesh and blood leg. It was even wired to sense touch as he could feel the texture of the cushion on the bench with his new leg. He could only assume his new eye was of similar quality. They felt so natural, he hadn’t even noticed anything was different.

“What time is it?” Zillon asked. He was still a bit worried that someone would wander in and catch him in this compromising position. 

“Late evening. Just rest here for a while longer, then I’ll lead you to somewhere proper to sleep.”

“If I stay like this any longer, I might fall asleep right here.”

“I wouldn’t have a problem with that, but I suppose you’d prefer somewhere more comfortable to sleep.”

She let go of Zillon and he got to his feet. He suddenly felt a bit chilly and exposed. “Are my clothes around here somewhere?”

“They’re back in your room of course. Follow me.” She walked down the path running by the bench towards a door at the far end.

“Follow you? But I’m--”

“Naked? Well, then I suppose you had better follow quickly if you don’t want to be seen,” she said with a laugh and walked out into the corridor. Zillon followed after her as fast as his shaky legs could carry him.

\-----------------------------------------

Zillon slept well that night. The following morning he was awakened by the maidens who shared a breakfast of fried slices of nutrient paste with him. Shortly after Maple arrived and spoke privately with the Scrapmother. She returned with orders to lead him away from the village, and Zillon quickly said his goodbyes.

Maple guided Zillon through dark and twisted passages for what seemed like hours. Maple’s hulking frame barely fit through many of the hallways, and she had to crawl on her hands and knees to get by. Eventually, they came to a massive door that blocked their progress. It looked as though it was nearly rusted shut, but it was no match for Maple’s strength. She effortlessly swung open the heavy slab of steel and stepped out into a wider passage, lit by a handful of flickering powered lamps dangling from frayed wires.

“Are you tired? Do you want me to carry you?” Maple asked.

“No, I’ll be fine,” Zillon replied. “I need to get used to this new leg anyways.” He stepped through the doorway and followed behind Maple as she continued down the hall. “How much farther is it to get out of the city, I mean, the village?” Zillon asked.

“It shouldn’t be much farther. There are rarely used tunnels down here that lead to some old outposts we don’t man any more. I can take you as far as the edge of the village, then Rose can escort you the rest of the way. Unfortunately, my body is a bit too big to fit into the tunnel.” 

“I see. So, what will happen when I get out to the outpost? Am I on my own then?”

“I’m pretty sure mother has a plan, but she didn’t tell me all the details. I think there’s some kind of beacon Rose is bringing out there that you can use to signal your people for help.” Maple ducked beneath a pipe that ran through the ceiling of the passageway. Her huge frame scraping against it as she struggled to squeeze through.

“Alright.” Zillon wasn’t actually sure that anyone would bother to land and pick him up in the wastes, but it was worth a shot. The alternative was walking back home, and even with his new leg there was no way he’d survive a journey of that scale. “Maple, I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you, or Brook and Rose for that matter. You’ve helped me every step of the way, while I’ve brought you nothing but trouble.” 

Maple turned towards him as they stepped into a larger passageway. “Don’t worry about that, you’ve done plenty for us. And besides, most of our troubles were here long before you got here. Don’t worry about it, everything will surely work ou-” Maple suddenly stopped mid sentence, and crumpled to a heap on the floor. Muffled sounds of pain came from within her armor.

“Maple What’s wrong?” He knelt down to check on her and was suddenly struck in the back of the head. Zillon fell to his knees, but steadied himself. He turned to face his attacker, only to catch a second blow to the head from a man wielding a baton. He fell to the floor and blacked out for a second, but snapped out of it when he felt somebody tie his wrists together.

“Let go of me!” he said before one of his captors punched him squarely in the stomach.

A familiar woman’s voice spoke up from behind him. “Take him to the holding cells. Gag him if he can’t keep his mouth shut.” Overseer Elm walked over to where Maple still lay on the floor. She put her foot on the fallen guardian’s back. “I’ll inform Birch that the outlander has been captured. Oh, and when you’ve delivered the outlander, send a crew down here to drag this traitor to the reclamation chamber.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Zillon asked as soon as he recovered from the pain.

“I am under no obligation to tell an outsider like you anything.” Elm said. She walked over to him and smiled cruelly. “Though if you must know, she’ll be getting the same treatment as anyone who disobeys the will of the perfects. Her gifts will be reclaimed so that they can be put to better use elsewhere, then she’ll be food for The Beast.”

“You can’t-” Zillon sputtered, but Elm silenced him by grabbing his face.

“You’re lucky we have a use for you, or you’d be joining her. Take him away!” She motioned to her subordinates and they dragged him away kicking and screaming.

\---------------------------------------------

Zillon was marched upwards, ascending endless staircases as he was brought ever closer to the heart of the city. There, beneath the quarters of the perfects, was the prison. As he was led through the main hall past rows of cells, some prisoners came to the doors of their cells to gawk at the interloper who’d caused such a commotion. From what he could see, each of the women imprisoned here had numerous interface surfaces for mounting cybernetics, but their prosthetic parts had been removed leaving each of them incomplete. They looked at him with wonder and spoke among themselves in hushed tones.

“Quiet! No one is to speak to the outlander,” one of his captors said. She walked over to the nearest cell and slammed her baton on the bars, sending the prisoners scurrying away. The wardens led him around a corner and down an empty hallway filled with windowless doors. At last, they stopped at a heavy door at the far end of the hall. The male guard grabbed a key ring off his belt, unlocked the door and his partner unceremoniously shoved Zillon inside.

In the cell it was quite dark, with the only light filtering in through a grate on the door. Zillon blinked, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Suddenly, he noticed movement in the back of the cell. Somebody sat up in the darkness. “Who’s there? Who are you?” Zillon asked as he struggled to his feet.

“Ah, you speak the northern tongue,” the man said in a rough accent Zillon had never heard before. “These demons have imprisoned me here for one month. My name is Jove.” He stood up and walked into the light, revealing his attire was the same as the Tunnelers he and Brook had fought the day before. “It is a shame we must meet when the sun is shining, but perhaps hope is not lost. They say two men can dig faster then one, as long as they are going in the same direction.”


End file.
